Dinner and Discussion and
by slackerD
Summary: Five friends invite people over for dinner and discussion. A Glee/The Last Supper crossover.   R/S


Dinner and Discussion and…  
><strong>Author:<strong> slacker_d  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> glee/The Last Supper  
><strong>PairingCharacters:** Mike, Tina, Rachel/Santana, Finn, Will, Sue  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Five friends invite people over for dinner and discussion.  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Not mine. Also, the views reflected in this fic, don't necessarily represent mine.  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> not quite 15,000  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> The Last Supper, none for glee  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> murder, character deaths, unhappy ending  
><strong><br>**

Spring 1999

"_File this under amazing stories, my friends. It seems that the National Organization for Women…otherwise known as NOW, otherwise known as lesbians fond of plaid…have chosen, once again, to take issue with yours truly. These angry feminists…and I say angry feminists like there's some other kind…_"

Sitting on the couch in between Mike and Tina, Santana turns away from the TV and looks behind her towards the kitchen at the sound of the back door slamming shut. "Should we help her?" she asks. "We should help her."

"Then go help her," Tina replies.

"You don't need us to help her," Mike adds.

"Why don't you?" Santana snaps.

"Why don't I carry your slippers in my mouth?" Tina snarks.

"That's an answer?"

"You don't help her and you don't help us," Tina tells her. "What, are you suddenly feeling guilty? I didn't know you were capable."

Rachel walks in, carrying a tray. "We can start with appetizers while we wait for Finn and what's-her-face." She sets the try on the coffee table. "We don't have any tomatoes for salsa, so we'll have to dip in humus. Sorry." She sits in recliner next to the couch.

"Don't care," Tina says, sitting up and grabbing a chip.

"_What we need in this country, my friends, is leadership. Someone who can stand up to the liberals. We need a return, God darn it, of the promise of the Reagan-Bush years. A time of unequalled growth in this county._"

"_We need Sue!_"

"_Well, careful folks, you just might get me._" Sue smiles as the crowd begins chanting her name.

"God, do we have to watch this?" Rachel asks.

"Who? Sue?"

"She's a idiot."

"She's a genius," Santana replies. "She can take any issue, no matter how miniscule and turn it into a national debate. She lies better than I tell the truth."

"Please," Rachel scoffs.

"We should always try and keep abreast of what the enemy is doing," Mike adds.

"_A storm is brewing, my friends. Someone has to stop it._"

"Well it's my TV," Rachel says, picking up the remote and shutting it off.

"That was incredibly childish," Tina tells her.

"Who's Finn bringing tonight?" Rachel asks.

"Amy Bennett," Mike answers.

"Not funny," Rachel snaps.

"The kidnapped girl?" Santana replies. "Funny."

"It is funny," Tina adds. "It's just tasteless."

With the TV off, the sound of the front door being unlocked is loud, despite the pouring rain outside.

"That's them," Rachel says, standing and going to the kitchen.

"Someone needs to get laid more often," Mike comments.

"Yeah," Santana agrees, standing. "Me."

"I'm available," Tina offers.

"Talk to her," Santana throws over her shoulder, heading towards the entryway to greet Finn and his guest.

At the door, she finds Finn, soaked, looking annoyed.

"What happened?"

"Brittnay stood me up again," Finn replies. "And then my fucking car…"

"So no guest?"

"Not exactly." Finn turns towards the still open door. "Hey Dave? Dave, come on in. This is Santana. Santana, Dave."

In the doorway stands a man in his 30s. He's dressed in a red flannel and jeans with a buzz cut. His postures screams uncomfortable.

"He picked me up, gave me a lift. What was wrong with my BMW again?"

"Cracked manifold," Dave tells him.

"Of course."

"You're staying for dinner, right, Dave?" Santana asks.

"Yeah, you should."

"No. I couldn't," Dave replies.

"Come on, you were nice enough to give me a lift," Finn tells him. "The least I can do is provide dinner."

"I don't wanna be a bother."

"It's not. It's horrible out there, anyway."

"Yeah," Santana adds. "We were expecting a guest. So there's already an extra place set."

"Whadda having?"

"Lasagna."

"I could eat lasagna."

**…**

While on his way back from the Abrams' farm, another complaint about people hunting on his property, Sherriff Will Schuester sees a blue BMW on the side of the road. He stops to see if anyone needs assistance. Pulling up behind it, he can't tell if there's anyone inside; it's raining too hard.

Getting out of his vehicle, he examines the car. The doors appear locked, but in the backseat, he sees a rifle lying atop a jacket. He walks around the car once and finding nothing else suspicious, gets back into his patrol car. Inside, he writes down the license plate and drives away.

**…**

Dave sits on one end of the table in the dining room and watches as everyone helps themselves. Finn is on the right and he throws a piece of bread at Santana, who sits across from him and easily catches and butters it. Mike accepts a bottle of white wine from Tina and pours himself a glass. He then returns his gaze to Dave, who is directly across from him.

"You really need to get a new car, Finn," Rachel says.

"But I love that car."

"Maybe your mom will give you another hand me down BMW," Santana adds.

"No," Tina says. "It would have to be new this time."

Everyone is talking, but Mike. He and Dave continue to lock eyes.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Dave asks.

"Oh, we have the salad after the main course," Rachel tells him. "Sort of European style."

"I meant saying grace."

"We don't say grace," Santana replies.

"You don't want to thank someone for putting all this food on the table?" Dave shakes his head before bowing it and praying silently.

"I hope you put in a good word for us heathens," Santana cracks.

"I did," Dave replies. "I'm not sure if he heard though."

"So Dave," Rachel starts. "Do you live around here?"

"Why do you want to know where I live?"

"Just making conversation," she replies. "See for about a year now, we've been inviting a guest over every Sunday for dinner and discussion."

"What do you discuss?"

"Everything and anything. Life. Politics. Religion. Whatever," Tina answers.

"No, I don't live around here," Dave says. "I drive a truck."

"Dave here," Finn says. "Has driven through every single of the lower 48 states."

"Interesting," Mike comments

"You guys college students or something?"

"Grad students, actually," Tina answers.

"What does that mean?"

"It means we've graduated," Rachel replies. "And now we're getting our master degrees."

"I'm going to be a master painter," Santana says.

"Master business man," Finn adds.

"Just plain master," Mike says.

"I'm studying anthropology," Rachel tells Dave.

"And Tina's studying…what are you studying this week?" Santana asks.

"Psychology."

"So you painted all those pictures?" Dave asks, looking around the room at the two paintings that hang on the wall.

"Santana here, wants to be a time traveler," Finn informs Dave.

"A time traveler?"

"Sure, go back, change history," Tina replies. "What if the confederate army had machine guns or FDR didn't have polio?"

"What you studying?" Dave asks Mike.

"I'm getting my Ph.D. in Political Science. That means I'm going to be a doctor."

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No," Mike answers. "Why would I do that?"

"Have you always driven a truck, Dave?" Rachel asks.

"No," he answers. "I was a Marine. I was in the war."

"War? What war?" Finn asks.

"Desert Storm."

"Was that really a war?" Mike asks. "I just thought that was a Republican commercial campaign."

"What? You got a problem with patriotism?"

"As a concept? No," Mike says.

"I love my country, and I will fight anyone who says different."

"Who was Joey Gerbils?" Finn mocks.

"Incorrect," Santana adds, making a buzzing noise.

"Wait a minute," Finn says. "I don't necessary think that the Germans were actually patriotic. I think it was a hysterical wave of nationalism."

"Patriotism leads to nationalism," Mike argues.

"No, not true," Finn replies.

"Wait," Tina interrupts. "Which one had the designated-hitter rule?"

"The American League."

"Just wanted to know."

"Hitler had the right idea," Dave announces.

"Excuse me?" Rachel exclaims.

"That was an extraordinary statement, Dave," Tina says.

"I'm not saying that killing Jews was right," Dave continues. "If he really did. There's no real proof, you know."

"He killed six million Jews," Rachel replies.

"And millions of Gypsies and Catholics," Santana adds.

"All numbers, really," Dave tells them. "But who can prove it? Kinda funny, ain't it?" He chuckles. No one joins in. "When it comes to buying shit, the Jews always bring the numbers down. Like I'll sell this old car for a thousand. And they're like, I'll give you five hundred. But when it comes to WWII, that's when the number gets pushed up. I mean first, it's six million, then it's seven million."

"Hey," Finn says. "Let's change the subject."

"Yeah," Tina adds. "Do you like the lasagna?"

"Actually, guys," Rachel says. "Let's wait a minute. I'd like to hear this. So Dave, in your vastly finite wisdom, what do you think Hitler had the right idea about?"

"Well," Dave starts. "It is common knowledge that the Jews, no offense, were stealing from the Germans. Just like they do here."

"Really?" Rachel asks.

"Oh yeah," Dave tells her as he nods. "It's a fact.

"Okay, first off," Rachel replies. "The Jews were Germans."

"Hardly. Jews ain't like that," Dave answers. "It's always about being a Jew first. It's why everybody hates them."

"Everybody? I doubt everybody hates the Jews."

"You're thinking about people that can read," Tina adds.

"Rachel, you're a Jew right?" Dave asks.

"Right."

"Okay, then. If the US went to war against Israel, who would you fight for?"

"Apparently the side that paid the most."

"Or what about you, Mike, Tina," Dave continues. "If the US was fighting Asia?"

"Asia's a continent, Dave," Tina says.

"So? Which side would you be on?"

"And if the US went to war against whatever Louisiana swamp you crawled out of?" Mike asks.

"Name calling ain't all that polite," Dave tells him. "Course, that's the problem with you Chinks. No proper upbringing, rude and ill mannered."

Silence falls, except for disbelieving scoffing from Rachel and Tina.

"Excuse me?" Mike says.

"My grandfather always used to say, if we knew you Orientals were going to be such trouble, we would've just kept you in those camps. Best place for you."

"Am I awake?" Tina asks

"Apparently," Rachel answers.

"Why don't we just eat?" Finn tries.

"Sounds great," Dave says.

"Did that really just happen?" Tina continues.

"Grad students, shit," Dave says. "You don't shit about anything."

"Of course, Dave," Tina answers. "I'm sure you're much more intelligent than us."

"Christ, I figured it out," Dave says. "You're a bunch of damn liberals."

"And you're what? A Nazi?" Rachel asks.

"Or is that too far to the left?" Tina continues.

"You all think you're so smart, don't you?" Dave answers. "You just sit back, bitch and moan, like always, but you don't do anything. A war happens, do you fight? Course not, you protest."

"Protest can be a powerful thing," Rachel tells him.

"Protesting is for pussies," Dave replies. "Maybe you should try fighting for something, putting yourself in danger before you start talking about powerful things. You liberals make me sick. You never take a stand, a stand you'd be willing to—"

"Die for?" Santana asks.

"Shit no, girlie," Dave says. "Dying's easy. Nothing heroic about that. But if you're willing to take a stand for something you'd kill for? Now that's something, something special."

"All right, Dave," Finn says. "I think maybe you should leave."

"Don't worry. I plan on it," Dave says. He picks up his napkin, wipes his hands, crumples it and tosses it on the table. "One of these days, all you bleeding hearts are going to learn that we're right. Us people with jobs, I'm talking about. Real people. We do all the fighting, working, and dying, and you do all the bitching. Grad students, I'm glad you all didn't join up. You wouldn't even know what to do, would you?"

"Guess not," Finn mumbles.

Without warning, Dave jumps up, whips a bowie knife from his back pocket and strong arms Santana out of her chair. He pulls her against him and presses the blade against her neck.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Finn exclaims.

"I ain't gonna hurt her. Just wanna try something. A little experiment."

"Okay, Dave," Finn tries. "We get your point."

"Fuck you all," Dave snaps. I fought for my country. I killed for my country. All the while, you were laughing back here, hoping we'd fall on our faces."

"Please, stop," Rachel pleads.

"Dave, come on," Finn adds.

"Shut the fuck up! Look at her, eyes wide with fear." He leans in and lowers his voice. "So a guy's holding a knife to your throat, telling you he's gonna kill you. And not only is he gonna kill you, he's gonna rape you and then slit your throat. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

He lets her go and she drops to the floor, gasping.

"Look at you." Dave looks triumphant. "I put a knife to your girl here and all you can do is strand here and stare. Pathetic."

Dave turns to leave, but Finn jumps up with a steak knife and points it at his neck.

"Table's turned now, war hero," Finn exclaims. "You think you can just come in here and threaten us. Pull a knife on a woman. Some war, anyway: us, against some third world country." Finn looks away and laughs. "Pushing buttons and—and smart bombing chimneys. What video game did you train on? I bet you didn't even have the balls to get off the boat, you stupid fuck."

"Finished, rich boy?"

Dave grabs Finn's wrist and bites down hard. Finn cries on in pain and drops the knife. Dave then takes his wrist and twists it behind his back, pushing him face first into the table. "You have soft hands," he tells him.

"Stop it, you're hurting him," Rachel exclaims.

"No, way, he's a tough guy," Dave replies. He jerks Finn's arm higher as he keeps his other hand on his back, holding him down. "He can take it." He pulls again and there's the sound of a bone breaking.

Dave lets go and Finn drops to the floor. "I didn't actually mean to break—"

He's cut off by Santana shoving the lasagna knife into his back. Her hand and the knife come back soaked with blood as Dave stands there stunned before falling back into his chair. After a moment, his head falls to the table, before he slips onto the floor, his back bloody.

Jumping up, both Rachel and Tina both scream. Santana can only stand there staring at the body, knife still clenched in hand. Finn, still on the floor, howls in pain. Mike sits back in his chair and sips his wine.

Standing over the body, Rachel asks, "Is he really dead?"

"Yes, Rachel, he's really dead," Tina snaps. "It's a weird side effect of a knife in the back."

"Oh Christ," Rachel says, beginning to pace. "Oh Christ."

Santana finally sets the knife on the table and picks up a napkin. She begins to wipe her hand clean.

"Are you allowed to say that as a Jew?" Mike asks.

"Shut up!" she exclaims. "Look at all the blood."

"It was self defense," Santana says.

"He wasn't hurting you," Rachel argues.

"Have you already forgotten the part where he had a knife to my jugular?"

"My arm, he broke my arm!" Finn cries from the floor.

"Wait," Tina says, picking up an apple and taking a bite. "Am I an accomplice?"

"Let's take a deep breath and figure this out," Santana says.

"Little late for rationality, don't you think?" Mike asks.

"Shut up, Chang," Santana snaps. "I had to do something. The rest of you just sat there."

"He broke my fucking arm!" Finn exclaims.

"He broke his fucking arm," Tina agrees.

"He was a right wing asshole," Mike tells them.

"That's no reason to kill a person!" Rachel squawks.

"It's a pretty good reason," Tina counters.

"I'm a murderer," Santana says, sitting.

"We have to call the police," Rachel says. "They'll understand."

"Of course they will," Mike assures them. "Grad student kills farm boy war hero. You'll probably just get a fine."

"Owie, owie, owie," Finn cries on the floor.

"You could plead insanity," Tina offers. "We'll vouch for you."

"Van Gogh did some of his best work in an asylum," Mike adds.

"Thanks," Santana replies.

"I don't believe this," Rachel says. "He's dead. He isn't breathing. He'll never be getting up again. And all you can talk about is Santana's future employment opportunities?"

"You want to discuss Dave's future opportunities?" Santana asks. "Cause it seems to me, they're pretty limited at this point."

Finn is still rolling around on the floor, moaning in pain.

"Oh my god!

"Jesus, Rach, calm down," Tina says. "Someone get her a drink."

"I need a drink!" Finn says, sitting up slightly. He snatches his wine glass off the table and drains it.

"I won't calm down," Rachel replies. "No one should be calm. You're acting like this is something we do every week. Invite a guest over and if we don't agree with his politics, we kill him."

"He pulled a knife," Santana says. "He threatened to rape and kill me."

"We're all in shock," Tina adds, taking another bite of her apple. "We're just dealing with it in our own way."

"You got that right," Santana says.

"I say we just bury the cracker and eat desert," Mike volunteers.

"This is horrible."

"It's really not, Rachel," Mike says. "People are killed every day. And I'm sure they're a lot nicer and more innocent than Dave, here. If you need to feel bad, feel bad for them."

"Yeah," Tina adds. "He was carrying a hunting knife. What's that about?"

"Maybe he's a hunter."

"People shouldn't go around carrying big knives," Mike replies.

"It's not illegal to carry a big knife," Finn exclaims from the floor.

"Well, maybe it should be," Tina says. "I mean, look what happened."

"It is, however, illegal to stab someone," Finn shouts. "Especially in the back."

"But what, if it's in the stomach, it's only slightly illegal?" Tina mocks.

"We have to tell the police," Rachel says.

"I'm not going to be an accomplice," Tina tells her.

"I really admire how you consistently put your feelings before anyone else's."

"Whatever, Berry," Tina snaps. You're the one trying to send your girlfriend to jail."

"Okay, listen!" Finn calls out, still on the floor. "We just tell them the truth. Zack got drunk. Santana was drunk. She stabbed him. Hopefully, worst case scenario, you get involuntary manslaughter."

"I didn't get drunk," Santana countered.

"Too bad then," Mike comments.

"I had a joint," she continues.

"Good," Mike says. "Tell them that."

"Look, I'm serious," Finn continues. "It was an accident. I'm sure they'll understand."

"Oh sure they will," Tina says. "Uh officer, long story short, we had this guy over for dinner, but he was kinda rude, so Santana stabbed him. In the back. Not a big deal, right? Wake up, Finn!"

"Bitch."

Standing, amidst the chaos, Santana looks around. "Is it still raining? Do I need my coat?"

"I'll go with you," Rachel says, standing.

"Hold on," Mike calls out. He stands and leads them both back to the table. They sit; both turn and face Mike. "The police are an option."

"They're the only option," Rachel protests.

"There is another option," Mike counters.

"Yes!" Finn calls out from the floor. "Take me to the fucking hospital."

Everyone ignores him.

"Just hear me out," Mike says. "What if we just forgot about this?"

"Are you fucking insane?" Rachel asks.

"What if we just bury the guy? In the backyard?" Mike questions. "People disappear all the time."

"Yeah," Tina agrees. "Especially in Iowa. We probably saved him from an alien abduction."

"We don't report it. We don't tell anyone. And we let it pass."

"No," Rachel snaps. "We can't just let it pass."

"No?" Mike asks. "I'm not going to jail for this fascist fuck."

"He's dead, Mike."

"Exactly. And we can't do anything to bring him back."

"Mike's right," Tina says. "We all know it was an accident."

"We let it pass and we can go on with the rest of our lives," Mike tells Rachel. "If we don't, things will never be the same."

"That's already true," Rachel protests.

"Have I mentioned my fucking arm is fucking broken?" Finn calls from the floor.

"Yes!"

Santana, meanwhile, has let her head drop against her girlfriend's back. Her eyes glaze over a bit as the adrenaline begins wearing off.

"Finn," Mike starts. "Where's Dave's truck?"

"Out front.

"Good," he says. "This is what we'll do. Rach, Tina, take Finn to the hospital."

"Yay," Finn says, weakly.

"Santana?" No response. "Santana!"

The Latina slowly lifts her head. "What?"

"I want you to help me bury the body," Mike tells him.

"What?"

"I want you to help me bury the body," Mike tells her again, more slowly.

"Okay."

"Then I'll drive the truck somewhere," Mike continues. "Somewhere far. Then…Santana!"

Santana has resumed leaning against Rachel and staring sightlessly.

"Santana!"

"What?"

"I need you to follow me in your car and bring me back," he tells her.

Santana nods without lifting her head.

"You're serious?" Rachel asks. "You want to just pretend like this never happened?"

"What never happened?" Santana, Tina and Finn reply.

"Exactly."

**…**

"Crap," Sherriff Schuester exclaims, looking down at his desk.

He's managed to spill the remains of his coffee and now there's a stack of soaked papers on his desk, including the notes from last night.

"That the license plate from the BMW last night?" Deputy Howard asks.

"Yeah, it is."

"Was it important?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Will stands and shakes the piece of paper, hoping to help it dry. "What are those?" he asks, looking at the stack of papers in Howard's hands.

"Possible leads on the kidnapping," Howard tells him. "Go on TV talking about Amy Bennett and people want to help."

Will accepts the stack, flipping through them. Most look like wild goose chases, but it's better than nothing and they have to start somewhere. He sighs and hangs the soaked note with the license plate on the bulletin board next to the missing poster of Amy Bennett. Hopefully, it'll dry out enough to figure out whose BMW was on the side of the road.

**…**

The next day, Finn finds himself drawn to the backyard. Mike and Finn buried the body in the garden, and planted a tomato bush on it. Sitting in a lawn chair, he drinks wine straight from the bottle as he stares at it.

**…**

Inside, Rachel is taking a bath. It doesn't help her achieve the serentiy she's looking for. Instead she finds herself crying. She's not sure what has her more upset, what Santana did, what Mike suggested or that she, all of them, went along with it.

**…**

Mike and Santana are in Cate's Café, looking through the papers for anything linking them to Dave. While Mike is causal and relaxed, Santana is wearing sunglasses with a baseball cap, pushed down low.

"Nothing in _The Times_ or in the _Tribune_," Mike says, dropping the paper on the table.

"What about _USA Today_?" Santana asks.

Mike snorts. "Aren't we full of ourselves?"

"I don't mean the front page," Santana replies. "But there's that section way in the back that has news from each state."

Someone walks a little too close to the table for Santana. She stops mid sentence and switches gears.

"Did you see the Hawkeye game last night?"

Once she's gone, Santana turns back to Mike. "Just look for me, will you?"

Mike picks up the paper and flips to the back page. "Iowa, Ames. City Council approves an expansion of the Iowa State athletic facility at a budget of two million dollars." He sets the paper down. "I believe we're in the clear. And would you take off those sunglasses and that ridiculous cap."

Santana sets the hat and sunglasses on the table.

Movement to their right, draws both of their focus, just in time to see a tall goateed gentleman bump into the young woman that just walked by their table. He knocks the books out of her hands, looks down at them, but doesn't apologize.

"Asshole," she murmurs, bending over.

"You got a problem?" the guy asks, looking over at Santana and Mike, before walking out.

"We should have that guy over for dinner," Santana suggests.

**…**

That night at dinner, Santana has a proposal. "So I have a hypothetical."

"Santana, if you try and trivialize this horrific situation with one of your moronic hypotheticals," Rachel interrupts. "I will scream."

"All I ask," Santana tells her. "Is that you hear me out."

After a brief stare off, Rachel nods.

"You're a time traveler—"

She's cut out by Rachel screaming.

"Jesus," Tina says. "Always so fucking dramatic, Berry."

They all chuckle, even Rachel. She then puts her head in her hands as Mike lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"It's 1909 in Austria. You're in a pub having a schnapps with a stranger, a young art student with one testicle. Let's say his name is Adolf. Now at this point in his life, Adolf has done no wrong. He's not bitter. He's not angry. He's committed no crime. He does not bring knives to dinner. He has not killed anybody. And he certainly hasn't started a world war."

"Yes? And?" Finn asks.

"Do you kill him?" Santana asks. "Do you poison his schnapps to save all those millions of innocent people?"

"I think one important question," Tina starts, drinking a large gulp of red wine. "Is, would Hitler drink schnapps?"

"Aren't you over simplifying it a bit?" Finn asks. "Dave was not Hitler."

"But how do you know?" Mike asks. "Can you see into the future?"

"Personally, I'd kill the bastard slowly," Tina announces, setting down her now empty wine glass.

"And you all know how I feel," Mike answers. "Finn?"

Looking helplessly around the table, Finn finally says, "No comment."

"I'd use something huge and heavy," Santana offers. "Like a motherfucking lead pipe or a hammer."

**…**

Cleaning up after dinner, the discussion continues. Mike and Santana seem rigid in their beliefs. Rachel is still stoutly against it. Finn seems to be wavering.

"Come on, Rach," Santana says, drying another plate. "It's not like we killed Beethoven or anything. Instead, we killed a guy who seems like an evil force on this planet."

"An evil force on this planet?" Finn jokes, seated at the kitchen table. "You've been reading way too many comic books, Lopez."

"Except, you're not God," Rachel replies. "You don't get to decide who's good and who's evil. You don't get to choose who lives or who dies."

"But what if the death makes the world a better place?" Mike asks.

"Bullshit," Finn says. "We have no way of knowing that Dave's death made the world a better place."

"My world feels better," Tina offers.

"Cheers to that," Mike says, clinking wine glasses.

Santana shakes her head. "You know? Maybe he was right."

"Who?"

"Dave. Maybe he was right about how all we do is talk. We just sit back and let the conservatives do whatever the hell they want. They manage to put aside their differences and achieve their common goals. And we just seem to get stuck arguing about the stupidest, minute, little things."

"What? Like murder?" Rachel asks. "Conservatives are simple."

"No, they're effective," Tina replies. "We buy animal-friendly mascara or stop buying grapes, but we don't **do**anything. All we do is fight."

"We do not," Rachel argues.

"Yes, we do."

"No, we don't.

Tina sighs. "**Yes**, we do."

"We're liberals," Rachel tells them. "We do the right thing."

"Then why is the world so fucked up?"

"Because we don't run the world," Finn replies.

"Exactly, we don't," Santana says.

"You see? We could finally do some good," Mike says, exiting the kitchen.

"Do some good?" Rachel asks, following him.

"Think about all the right-wing assholes the world would've been better off without if someone had wasted them before they did any damage," Mike replies.

Santana, Rachel and Tina sink onto the couch. Mike sits on the coffee table as Finn sits on the floor and leans against it. Mike refills everyone's wine glass as they begin to list people.

"Pol Pot. Idi Amin," Mike offers. "Josef Mengele."

"Joseph McCarthy," Santana adds.

"Joey Terrio," Finn says.

"From _Dance Fever_?" Santana asks.

"No, he was a kid from ninth grade," Finn replies. "He stuffed me in a port-o-potty and knocked it over, six times."

"Little motherfucker," Mike says.

**…**

Two more bottles of wine later, the discussion continues.

"And if they're such huge jackasses that we can't convince them…" Mike pauses. "You're sitting across from Hitler. Still no comment?"

"Well, sure, if it was Hitler," Finn says. "I'd kill him."

They all chuckle, except for Rachel.

"Rachel?"

"No. No, I would thank him for the schnapps, get back in the time machine, set it for home and go to bed," Rachel says, standing. "Which is where I'm going now. Good night."

"Good night." They watch her head towards the bedroom.

"I wouldn't want to stab him," Santana says after a bit of silence. "That was just… too weird."

"I would club them," Finn offers.

"Obviously, we'd poison them," Tina says.

"Obviously," Mike agrees.

"And I wouldn't want them to know they're being poisoned," Tina continues. "I mean, it's bad enough that they have to die. I don't want their last thoughts to be "Hey, I'm being killed by these liberals." No, maybe we could scream and act like it's some terrible accident. That way their last thoughts on earth wouldn't be too awful."

"That's nice," Mike says.

**…**

Sunday afternoon finds Mike, Santana, Finn and Rachel in the kitchen. On the table sits two glass decanters, one blue and one green. Santana, Finn and Rachel watch as Mike pulls a small bottle out of the cabinet and opens it.

"Tina already knows," he says. "The blue bottle is bad and the green one is good." He uses the dropper to put several drops into the blue bottle.

"What is that stuff?" Finn asks.

"Arsenic." Mike recaps the small brown bottle

Santana grabs the blue bottle and sniffs the contents, before putting the stopper in.

"None of us are going to do this," Rachel tells them.

"Probably not," Mike says, picking up both bottles. "But just in case the guy pulls a knife."

**…**

"Everyone," Tina says, gesturing to the older gentleman next to her. "This is Reverend Gerald Hutchens."

"This is Mike."

The Reverend shakes Mike's hand. "A pleasure."

"And Rachel."

He shakes Rachel's hand. "A pleasure."

"That's Santana and Finn."

The Reverend shakes Santana's hand. He moves to shake Finn's, who apologizes since his hand is in a cast. He then gestures to the guest chair and the Reverend sits as they all take their places.

"It's nice to meet you all," the Reverend says.

"Likewise," Rachel replies.

"I didn't realize it was going to be so formal."

"We like to take care of our guest, Reverend," Mike answers.

"So, Reverend, where's your parish?" Rachel asks.

"We have a little parish outside of Maple Falls."

"Really?" Rachel asks. "That's where I'm from."

"Oh? Then you must have seen our manger," he tells her. "We have the biggest baby Jesus in the county."

"Well, I hope you're hungry," Finn says.

"Famished, actually. And it all looks so delicious." He scans the table. "Is that apple pie?"

"It's homemade," Rachel tells him.

"Would you like to say grace?" Santana asks.

The Reverend smiles. "I would love to. I had no idea your generation still did that. It's charming." He smiles brightly. "Shall we bow our heads?"

The Reverend bows his head as everyone clasps hands. They all keep their heads up and eyes open, though.

"Bless us, Lord, for this bounty, we are about to receive."

"A fucking reverend?" Santana mouths at Tina.

"For this blessing of youth and kindness…"

"Wait," she mouths back.

"…you have chosen to bestow upon me. God bless us all. Amen."

"Amen."

"So, Reverend," Rachel starts. "How do you and Tina know each other?"

Everyone begins helping themselves to food and wine.

"I interviewed the good Reverend for a research paper I was doing," Tina tells them.

"Yes," the Reverend adds. "On the vileness."

Everyone, but Tina stops. They look up from their plates and stare at the Reverend.

"The vileness?" Finn and Santana ask.

"The gay plague of course," the reverend says, scooping food onto his plate.

Everyone turns their attention to Tina.

"On the use of secular therapy in comforting families of AIDS patients," Tina clarifies. "The good Reverend was kind enough to let me use his view as a counterpoint position."

"Oh." Mike says.

"So you don't believe in comforting the families?" Finn asks.

"No, I do not believe in comforting the families of irredeemable mortal sinners." The Reverend pauses and points down the table. "Are those biscuits made from scratch?"

"They are," Tina says, handing the basket to Finn, who passes it to the Reverend.

"They're lovely. Thank you," he says taking a biscuit.

"AIDS isn't a sin," Finn says. "It's a terrible disease."

"Not quite," the Reverand replies. "Homosexuality is the terrible disease and AIDS is the cure. Is there butter?"

"Excuse me?"

"Butter?"

"Yes, of course." Santana hands him the butter dish.

"Thank you." Taking some butter he spreads it on the biscuit as he continues. "When you violate the moral, health, and hygiene laws you reap the whirlwind. You cannot shake your fist in God's face and get by with it."

"Ready for more wine?" Mike asks, holding up the blue decanter.

"No, wait," Rachel snaps. "It's white and we're having meat. We really should wait for desert."

"Yes," Finn agrees.

"But as a reverend, surely you must have some compassion?" Rachel asks.

"Yes," Finn adds. "Jesus himself would be one of the most compassionate men in our history."

"Of course, certainly. But Jesus would never touch a homosexual."

"Aren't we all God's children?" Rachel tries.

"We are all God's children," the Reverend agrees. "But like children, we can get into trouble. And when that happens, we must be punished.'

"Gerald is the leader of God's Way," Tina adds.

"God's Way?"

"Homosexuals are the living, breathing cesspool of pathogens. We simply propose to put them out on a desert island with enough foodstuffs to last them for their limited lifetimes. And what would that be? Say, two years tops? That way, for a nominal cost to us...they would all die." The Reverend looks at the dish in front of him. "Is this radicchio?"

"Yes."

"Has anyone close to you ever died from AlDS?" Rachel asks.

"Really?"

"Really."

"No." The Reverend laughs.

Santana takes Rachel's hand in the insuring silence. The other four watch as Rachel stares at the Reverend for a moment before speaking. "I think it's time for desert."

Santana looks at Mike, who looks at Tina, who nods and looks at Finn.

"Yes," he says.

Rachel cuts out a piece of pie and puts it on a plate. Santana hands the Reverend the plate.

"Thank you."

"I'd like to propose a toast," Mike says, grabbing the blue decanter. He hands it to Tina, who hands it to Finn, who passes it to Santana. She pulls off the top and fills the Reverend's glass.

"To God's soldiers."

"I like that," the Reverend says.

They all nod and drink as the Reverend takes a sip of the white wine, followed by some pie.

"This pie is delicious," he tells them, having another drink of wine. He looks up to see the five of them watching him intently. "Anything wrong?"

"We just want to make sure you enjoy it," Tina tells him.

"Can I make a confession?" the Reverend asks.

"Do you want more white wine?" Mike asks.

Santana reaches for the blue bottle.

"No, but I think this pie might be a little too rich." The Reverend coughs and takes another swallow of wine.

They begin to eat as he coughs. When they become harsher, Tina begins screaming. She gestures for the rest of them to join her. They all do, watching the Reverend cough and hack. After a few moments of hacking, he stops and his head lolls to his right shoulder. They all watch a moment.

"Is he dead?" Rachel asks.

Santana checks for a pulse. "He's real dead."

"Oh god," Rachel whimpers.

"Should we say last rites?" Finn asks.

"You do that before," Mike informs him.

"We should just finish dinner before it gets cold," Tina says.

"How can you guys eat with a dead reverend at the table?" Rachel asks.

"What's your problem?" Tina asks. "You're the one who gave him the death sentence. "I think it's time for desert." What was that?"

"I think Rachel behaved, performed, wonderfully," Mike says.

"Yes," Finn agrees. "We did give him every chance possible."

"I want to propose a toast," Santana says, raising her glass. "To us, for making a difference, for putting aside our differences and for making the world a better place."

"L'Chaim," Mike chimes in as they clink glasses. "Please pass the radicchio. Butter?"

Santana coughs as she passes the butter.

"Don't choke," Finn jokes.

"Rachel, hit her on the back," Tina says. "She's choking."

"Not funny," Rachel says. She smacks her on the back, but the coughing just gets worse. "Are you okay?"

"Jesus Christ, she switched the glasses," Tina exclaims. "She switched the glasses."

They all jump up as Santana tries to stand, still coughing harshly.

"Try the Heimlich," Mike says, coming up behind her.

Santana is now crouched over, coughing and wheezing.

"Call 911!" Rachel says.

Mike moves towards the phone as Santana collapses on the floor.

"No!" Tina and Finn call after him. Mike pauses.

Santana coughs and sputters, huddled in the fetal position. And then with one last cough, she goes limp.

"Santana! Shit!"

"What?" she asks, looking up innocently.

Mike lets out a loud laugh

"Asshat," Tina says, smacking her

"You jerk," Rachel says.

Santana just smiles and sits up to kiss her.

"Come on, let's get him out of here," Finn says, walking towards the Reverend's body.

**…**

The second body is easier to bury than the first. Though it takes more digging because while the Reverend was shorter than Dave, he was definitely…wider. They put another tomato plant atop the grave.

**…**

"_This was in the paper today. They want to do another gay pride parade. Do you think that a bunch of gays and lesbians strutting through town constitutes a parade? Does anybody remember what it was like when we were kids and had parades that meant something that were about real, wonderfully festive events with people dressed in inventive costumes, like kings and queens. Now that I think about it, that does sound a little like a gay pride march._"

The audience laughs heartily as Sue chuckles.

Normally, Santana finds listening to Sue's words inspiring. She finds that all the anger she feels at her words, brings forth a real passion that she can apply towards her canvas. But not today.

She wanders into the bedroom and finds Rachel on the bed, staring at her high school year book. She pulls off the wife beater she usually wears to paint and struts over to Rachel.

Rachel traces a random pattern on her girlfriend's stomach for a moment, before undoing her belt buckle. The button and zipper are next and the jeans are slid off. The yearbook falls to the floor, forgotten.

**…**

This Sunday evening their guest is Mark. This time they make no real pretense of eating. Instead they lean forward in their seats, questioning their guest.

"How often does a woman say, "No" but she really means, "Yes"? She says, "Stop," but she means, "Keep going." You can't bring the law into the bedroom, it's constitutionally wrong," Mark tells them.

"Isn't violating a woman's body constitutionally wrong?" Rachel asks.

"Isn't leading a man on wrong?" Mark counters. "If a woman accepts a date with a man, especially in this day and age she knows what he's after and she accepts."

"So you think that all dates lead to sex," Tina says.

"I don't," Finn says.

"Man is the dominant species. Women are the dominated. They are the weaker sex and they always will be."

"But we're not talking about species," Rachel tells him. "A man doesn't have the right to rape a woman."

"No, of course he doesn't, Rachel. Rape is a terrible thing. But it is also much rarer than people think," Mark replies. "When a woman cries rape, it's usually because she's already consented to sex."

"Really?" Tina asks.

"Yeah, really. If she doesn't allow herself to enjoy it, then she feels used," Mark explains. "So women, vindictive by nature, cry rape. And force the man to suffer the feelings of inadequacy that they themselves have created. The world stops and you destroy the man. It's quite self-defeating, really."

Tina just smirks and reaches for the blue decanter, pulling the top off with purpose. She hands it to Finn.

"Keep them in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant," Mike snarks.

"No, I think that's a little sexist."

"So that's what your parade is for?" Finn asks, setting the bottle down in front of Mark.

Mark nods, finishing his wine. "We're stealing a chapter from the civil rights movement. You got to fight for what you believe in, right?"

"Absolutely," Rachel agrees. "I think we can all drink to that."

They all pick up their wine glasses, as Mark swirls his empty one.

"Please, help yourself," Finn tells him, gesturing to the blue bottle.

He smiles and pours himself more. Sniffing it, he swirls the wine a bit before swallowing it all.

**…**

The third body gets a tomato bush headstone as well.

**…**

Sherriff Will Schuester knocks on the door of 1435 Crescent Drive. The door opens to reveal a man in his forties.

"Evening, sir, sorry to bother you," Will says. "I'm Sheriff Schuester. I'm going door to door asking people for any information they might have on Amy Bennett, the missing girl. I'm wondering if you could just take a look at a few pictures…"

**…**

Tonight's guest is an anti-abortion activist. She is passionate and tenacious in her beliefs. Rachel finds she can't completely concentrate as she lets her hand trail up the inside of Santana's thigh.

"…If I don't use everything in my power to block that entrance, innocent unborn children will die. And if I have to kill someone to stop that, well…that is what the Right to Life Movement is all about."

**…**

By the fourth body, it's almost routine. Everyone knows their part and in no time, it's impossible to know anything devious happened.

**…**

"_These hippies want our…Native American, heaven forbid, I almost called them Indian, children to blame our forefathers for all of their trouble instead of their own. Now, I'm the first to admit we took this country from the Indians. But what in the world were they doing with it anyway? Shooting off bows and arrows and using seashells for money._"

**…**

Santana knows that it wasn't all that long ago that she was complaining about her lack of a sex life; however, she's not sure she's any happier with her current situation either.

At the moment, Santana is on her back with Rachel atop her, riding three of the Latina's fingers while tweaking her own nipples, working towards Rachel's third orgasm of the night.

It's not that Santana isn't enjoying herself, because Rachel is tight and wet around her fingers and watching her girlfriend come is always hot as hell, but she can't help feeling a bit used. Not because Rachel doesn't reciprocate; because she does, in spades, with her usual intense enthusiasm. But it doesn't feel like it's about the two of them anymore, it's just about the sex, about getting off. Santana just has this weird feeling that if she thought she could get away with it, Rachel would jump Tina once she's exhausted Santana. Even over Tina's veracious protests.

It's disconcerting. Santana can still see the love in Rachel's eyes for her, just not while they're having sex.

**…**

Finn's arm is finally healed enough that he can go out skeet shooting again. The smaller cast allows his fingers and palm the freedom of movement required.

The first one is a miss, so is the second, but the third is right on target and he watches the clay duck explode.

Excited, he screams out, "Die!"

Realizing what he's just said, he looks around. Seeing no one, he smiles in relief and shoots another clay duck.

"You bastard!" he shouts this time, smiling brightly.

**…**

Sheriff Schuester arrives at the site Howard called him from. He climbs out and is eagerly greeted by his deputy.

"Will," he exclaims. "When the rain stopped, the river returned to its regular level and it just appeared. Old Cory Harrison found it."

"You search it yet?"

"Just about to," Howard tells him. "But just looking? I think there's some blood under the mat." The deputy opens the dark blue truck and points at the floor. "See that? Right there."

"Good," Will says. "I want to run a search on the plates, too."

**…**

Back in the office, Will finds out the truck belongs to Dave Riley. Looking over his history, he sees Dave Riley is wanted for Rape, Child Molestation, Assault and Resisting Arrest. Will adds his picture to stack he's been showing people during his door to door inquiries.

**…**

"You know?" Nick says. "I never really thought about it that way." He sets down his wine glass, looking contemplative. "Maybe you're right. They're all just people…with feeling…and family."

The five grad students can only stare at him. This is the first time someone's even considered they're point of view. And what can they do? Nick already has the poisoned wine in his glass.

Finally, Mike says, "You are entitled to your own opinion, of course."

Nick shakes his head, as if to clear out cobwebs and then smiles widely. "Yeah, it's true!" he says. "If you don't beat those homeless senseless, they'll never know their place." He laughs, slapping the table.

Everyone joins in, laughing and drinking.

He takes a big gulp of wine and moments later falls face first into his spaghetti.

**…**

With the sixth body, no one even blinks. Or talks. They simply finish dinner. After Mike and Santana bury the body while Finn helps Rachel and Tina clean up. Yet another tomato bush serves as a headstone.

Part 2

Of course the one bad thing about their body disposal is all the tomatoes. Decaying bodies seem to be the perfect fertilizer because all too soon, they're practically drowning in tomatoes. They make sauce, juice and soup. When they run out of room in the cupboard, Rachel begins stringing slices together and drying them. But then there are strings of dried tomato slices everywhere. Soon enough, even that isn't enough to utilize all the tomatoes. Eventually more and more tomatoes are left outside to rot.

**…**

One afternoon, Tina walks into the kitchen to find Santana gulping down an entire bottle of Pepto-Bismol.

"You okay?" she asks, idly picking up one of the dozen tomatoes on the kitchen table.

"Yeah," Santana says, recapping the bottle. "Just my stomach. It's been killing me for about three weeks."

"Maybe it's all the tomatoes," Tina suggests.

**…**

Mike's solution to the overabundance of tomatoes is batting practice. Using their grave digging shovel, he hits tomato after tomato into the small shed in the back yard. They mostly explode on contact, but some of the tomato makes it to the shed, leaving a sticky stain behind.

**…**

Santana's stomach won't let her sleep. Getting weary of nights spent staring at the ceiling, she finds herself inspired to paint. She acquires a large roll of canvas and hangs it over the dining room table. She moves all the chairs and tosses an old sheet on the table. She spends the night on her back, painting.

She finishes just as the sun starts to rise. Using the ladder from the shed, she hangs it from the ceiling. Santana then spends the next hour, sprawled out in her usual chair, staring.

Tina and Mike find her looking upward and follow her line of sight.

"Brava," Mike tells her.

"Nice work, Santana," Tina agrees.

"I couldn't sleep," Santana says.

"I can see that," Mike replies.

Eventually, Santana feels the need to shower. Painting on your back isn't exactly a clean endeavor.

In the room she shares with Rachel, the Latina finds her girlfriend masturbating. She watches her in the doorway for a moment, before stripping and walking right by the bed.

"Where have you been?" Rachel asks.

"I've got to shower," Santana tells her, entering the bathroom.

"Can I join you?"

Santana's response is to shut the door behind her. Rachel isn't even sure Santana heard her.

**…**

Tina finds herself without anything to do one Tuesday and so she spends the day planting flowers she bought at the farmer's market; yellow and white Pansies.

Kneeling on the cold ground, she plants them along the base of all the graves. Around the fourth or fifth one planted, tears being streaming down her cheeks. She ignores them and continues planting. The urge to weep is too strong and so she doesn't fight; just lets it happen. No one else is around to hear her sobs anyway.

The flowers bloom quickly and all too soon the plots are overflowing with them.

**…**

"I'm not sure I've ever met someone who's anti-Earth," Rachel says.

"I'm not anti-Earth," Jason assures them. "I'm pro-earthling. It's kind of hard to care about the greenhouse effect if you don't have a house." He pauses and takes a bite of his burger and a sip of wine. "You see, I think it all comes down to evolution anyway. Survival of the fittest. I mean, if the spotted owl's time is up, well then it's hasta la vista, baby, I guess." Jason pauses again for more burger and wine. "See now, your damn liberals, on the other hand they'd be protecting the rights of the dinosaurs if they could." With a flourish, he finishes his red wine and takes a large bite of burger.

"I would defend them too," Finn says, pouring Jason some wine from the blue decanter. "If they weren't already extinct.

Mike and Rachel smile wider at this statement, while Tina keeps her head down, looking solemn and Santana does her best to hold back a grimace.

Picking up his refilled wine glass, Jason swirls it a bit. "A little white. All righty then."

"Cheers," Mike says, holding up his glass. Finn and Rachel follow suit. Santana and Tina don't.

"Cheers," Jason says, drinking most of it.

**…**

Finn's returned to his weekly skeet shooting. He no longer feels the need to yell at the clay pigeons. In fact, everything seems to be back to normal. Well, except for the cast.

However today, once he's done, a flock of birds fly out of a nearby cluster of trees. Finn looks around and seeing no one, sets himself up to shoot a different target. He takes aim, just as he always does and pulls the trigger. A bird falls. Finn can only stare at the sky where the bird once flew.

**…**

The next day, Finn reports to the sheriff's office. He sits down with Sheriff Schuester, who explains his concerns about Finn leaving his gun lying out in the open. Finn shows her his license.

"I shoot skeet," he tells him.

"Still, you should never leave an unsecured gun in your car."

"I know that, I do. I'm sorry, but my car was dead. This guy in a truck stopped and gave me a lift and I didn't want to be wielding a rifle. People don't usually stop to help people waving guns around."

"A truck?" Will asks. "You get a good look at this truck?"

"Somewhat," Finn answers. "It was dark and rainy."

"Did it look like this?" Will grabs a picture from a stack on his desk and hands it to Finn. "Was it this color?"

Finn takes the picture. It's definitely Dave's truck. "Uh, maybe. Sure."

"Did you get a good look at the driver?"

"I don't really remember much."

"White? Black?"

"Ummm…" Finn stalls. But the look in the sheriff's eyes says he had better at least remember the race. "White…and, medium build."

Accepting the photo back, Will says, "This truck belonged to a known felon. It was abandoned next to the Missouri River. I want you to look through a couple of pictures. Maybe you'll recognize him."

Finn takes the half a dozen pictures and slowly flips through them. The third one is Dave and he resists the urge to stare or linger. Once finished, he hands them back, shaking his head.

"Nothing?" Will asks.

"No, sorry."

"We found traces of blood in the truck," Will continues. "We're waiting to see if it matches Amy Bennett's."

"The kidnapped girl? That would be terrible."

"I want you to think about this really hard," Will says. "If you remember anything, anything at all or if you see this man again, call me, ASAP." The Sheriff hands Finn a card. "We clear?"

"Of course," Finn says. "Absolutely." Finn puts the card in his wallet, next to his skeet license.

"Consider yourself lucky, Mr. Hudson," Will says. "You might have been sitting in the truck of a murderer."

**…**

Tina and Santana corner Mike Sunday afternoon.

"We've been thinking," Tina tells him.

"About us."

"Oh?"

"It's just," Tina starts. "We don't think we're giving people enough of a chance."

"Remember the original plan?" Santana adds. "We said we weren't going to kill anyone unless we absolutely couldn't change their minds."

"Yeah? So we haven't changed anyone's mind. Perhaps we're not as smart as we thought."

"Mike," Santana replies. "The swastika guy sat down and you told him it was happy hour."

"True," Mike agrees. "But I figured, why waste the food?" He chuckles. Neither woman joins him.

"Waste the food?" Santana asks. "We're not even giving these people a decent meal anymore."

"The fag basher had Chinese," Mike argues.

"Wong's Wok is not Chinese," Tina tells him.

"I just don't want to lose the reason we started this in the first place," Santana says.

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," Mike salutes, still smirking.

**…**

"_Catcher in the Rye_ is supposed to be art?" Pam, the guest for the evening, asks. "_Thumbelina_ is art._Catcher in the Rye_is just mean-spirited garbage, littered with the "F" word." They watch as she struggles with even saying F, as if it pains her.

Finn, Mike and Rachel just laugh. "Well, I've heard enough," Mike says. "How about a toast?"

Tina and Santana look disgusted.

"This is pathetic," Tina says.

"Come on," Mike says, as Finn picks up the blue bottle. He holds it out to Rachel who pulls the top off and he pours Pam a full glass. "A toast."

The doorbell rings. They aren't expecting anyone, so they all look up, in surprise. No one immediately moves to answer it. Finally, Santana stands. "I'll get it."

Finn, Mike and Rachel resume their laughing while Tina tries to pretend she's somewhere else. Pam smiles at the attention and takes another bite of Mac & Cheese off her paper plate.

"Thank you," she tells them.

At the door, Santana opens it, but keeps the chain on.

"Good evening, ma'am," Sheriff Schuester says. "Sorry to bother you during dinner, but I'm going door to door to see if anyone has any information about Amy Bennett."

"The kidnapped girl?"

"Correct," Will says. "Perhaps you could look at some pictures?"

"Uh, sure, but you know, I've got company—"

"It'll just take a minute, I promise."

Santana nods and closes the door to unlatch the chain. Before she opens it again, she takes a deep breath.

The door swings open and Will hands over a stack of pictures. "Have you ever seen any of these men?"

Santana accept the pictures and begins to slowly flip through them. Just as she comes across Dave's picture, Rachel comes up behind her.

"Who is it Santana?"

"Good evening," Will says.

"Hi." Rachel smiles.

Still clutching the photos, Santana looks up. "Yeah, this is, uh…I'm sorry, I forgot your name."

"Don't worry officer," Rachel adds. "She's not driving."

"I believe you," Will replies. "Sheriff Will Schuester."

"Rachel Berry. You know my grandfather was chief of police in Maple Falls, many moons ago."

"Oh?" Will asks. "Perhaps you'd like to take a look at these pictures and see if you recognize anyone." Will turns to Santana.

"He…" Santana trails off as Rachel takes the photos from her.

"He was chief of police for over twenty years," Rachel jumps in. "They called him "Old Smokey". He was a bit of a drinker too." Rachel flips through the pictures quickly, not really looking at them as she speaks. "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but none of them look familiar. I don't think I'd **want**to know them if I saw them, anyway. Scary bunch of guys."

"Yeah," Santana says. "Don't recognize any."

Will holds up Dave's picture. "You paused on this picture. Does he look familiar?"

"Uh, well, no, it's just—"

The three of them pause and look into the house as a small crash is heard.

"What was that?" Will asks.

"I'm not sure," Rachel answers. "Sweetie, why don't you go check?"

Santana nods in relief. However, before she can take more than a step back, Finn appears at the door, throwing out apologies.

"Tina's okay, but I think the dessert might be in trouble."

"Good evening, Mr. Hudson."

"Well, hello, Sheriff Schuester," Finn replies.

"This is the house you were dropped off at that night?"

"We're roommates," Finn tells her, smiling and flinging his arms around both Rachel and Santana.

"Maybe that's why you stopped at this picture," Will says, still holding Dave's photo. "Have you seen this man before?"

"No, they haven't," Finn answers. "You guys remember? That night? My car broke down? You guys were all inside."

"Yeah," Santana nods. "We were…inside. He was like wet, dripping wet."

"It was pouring out," Finn clarifies.

Will returns his focus to Rachel. "You know, you sped through these pictures rather quickly. Maybe you want to take another look?"

"No thank you," Rachel replies. "Those are some creepy looking guys. I'd rather not. They're scary enough to give a girl nightmares."

"Your grandfather never left any mug shots lying around?"

Rachel shook her head. "No I died long before, I mean, he died," Rachel guffaws. Finn joins in while Santana can only manage a weak chuckle. "Long before I was born."

"All right then," Will says, eyeing the trio. "Thank you." He turns to leave, but stops. "Oh and Mr. Hudson, just so you know, we found out the blood was a match."

"Wow," Finn says. "Thank you." He ignores the curious looks from Rachel and Santana.

"Good night."

"Good night.

Once the door clicks shut behind them, Santana and Rachel dash back into the dining room.

"What the hell happened?" Santana exclaims.

Mike is sitting in his usual spot, drinking wine. Pam is slumped over her chair with a knife sticking out of her back. Tina has her knee on Pam's shoulder blade, trying desperately to pull it out.

"Pam doesn't drink wine," Mike tells them.

"So this fucker stabbed her!" Tina shouts.

"We've got other issues, people," Rachel says. "Finn, what were you saying? About the sheriff?"

"Let me explain," Finn says walking in and leaning on a chair.

Rachel sinks a chair, while Santana just drops to her knees next to Rachel. Tina continues trying to remove the knife from Pam's back.

"What sheriff, Finn?" Mike asks.

"Let me explain. The other day, I was called in for questioning," Finn tells them.

"Oh fuck!" Santana hides her head in her hands.

Tina stops her attempted retrieval and turns to stare at Finn. "What?"

Finn holds up his hands in protest. "It has nothing to do with us, trust me. Remember the night with Dave? Well, I left my car on the side of the road, but I also left my rifle in the car, since I didn't want to scare Dave." Finn laughs at the thought. "The Sheriff found the car, but he also saw the rifle, so he called me in." Finn shrugs. "No biggie."

"No biggie?" Rachel asks. "He had Dave's picture."

"Sure, cause they found Dave's truck."

"Double fuck!" Santana exclaims.

"Were you planning on mentioning this to us, Finn?" Mike asked.

Finn sits in the chair between Mike and Rachel. "It has nothing to do with us. I got called in because of the rifle, but completely separate from that, they found Dave's truck. There was some of Amy Bennett's blood in it. Now, the Sheriff doesn't know Dave's dead, so he's looking everywhere for him because he probably killed that poor little girl."

"Fucking fuck," Santana says, finishing a glass of wine in front of her.

"See, we did some good there," Finn says.

"Of course we did," Mike comments.

"Seems you were correct, Mike," Rachel adds.

"Hey!" Finn exclaims, making a jubilant fist. "Hooray for us!" He and Rachel high five.

Still tugging at the knife, Tina turns. "And what if they trace Dave back here?"

"That's not going to happen, Tina," Mike tells her.

"They found the truck," Tina points out. "And that wasn't supposed to happen, either."

"She's right," Santana adds.

"Maybe it's a sign that we should just slow down a bit," Tina continues.

"Paranoia!" Rachel and Finn mock.

"Fuck you guys!"

"What are you talking about?" Mike asks. "We have hard proof that we stopped a child murderer and you're acting like we did something wrong."

"What if Dave had lived?" Rachel adds. "We stopped him before he killed anyone else. Isn't that why we started all this?"

"But look at her," Santana says. "She was just illiterate. I mean, we're getting out of hand."

"We've been careful, Santana," Mike assures. "No one's going to touch us."

"We have to slow down," Santana says jumping up. "Slow down." She lets herself sink back to the floor.

Sounding teary, Tina says, "We've killed nine people."

"Ten," Rachel corrects.

"Nine," Tina snaps. "I was an accounting major, once."

"It's only nine," Santana adds.

"It's ten."

Finn stands and rolls up his sleeve, revealing his cast. It has 10 slash marks on it. "It's ten."

"You can't count Dave," Santana says.

"He was the first," Finn argues.

"Maybe, but he was an accident."

"If he's in the garden, it counts," Finn says, sitting back down. "That's the rule."

"You're fucking insane," Santana replies.

"There are no rules," Tina cries out. "We're killing people for fuck's sakes!"

"They're not people," Rachel replies. "They're people who hate."

"So? She just had bad taste," Tina says. "I didn't kill you for your wardrobe, Berry."

"That's hilarious coming from the goth wanna be, you fucking bitch."

"All I'm saying is we have to think things through more," Santana interrupts, jumping up again. "Think! Hooray for us? Come on."

"All right! All right!" Mike shouts. "Let's just get rid of Miss Mensa here."

**…**

Later that night in bed, neither Rachel nor Santana can sleep. Turning on her side to face her girlfriend, Rachel lets her hand wander across Santana's stomach before sliding lower. Santana grabs her wrist and gently removes it.

"Just go to sleep," Santana tells her.

**…**

Tonight's guest is a local high school senior. Tina just stares incredulously at Rachel when she introduces the girl. Santana just avoids looking at everyone. They all sit down to pizza and pop out of paper cups.

Once everyone has a piece, Rachel says, "You guys probably recognize Erin from the newspaper. She's the one who's suing her high school."

"That's right," Finn says. "The condom thing."

Erin shakes her head. "That's just how the press has simplified it. I'm suing my high school because they're violating my constitutional right to privacy by making sexual education mandatory for graduation."

Rachel rolls her eyes, while Tina just stares.

Finn turns to Erin and tells her, "I'm sure that's going to get you a lot of publicity, Erin. But in legal terms, your case is what we call bullshit."

Rachel snickers loudly.

Erin's eyes get wide. "Why? That's the way things ought to be."

"Well, for one, the court understands that especially in this day and age of AlDS," Finn replies. "Sexual education must be mandatory to insure the public safety."

"No, that's not true," Erin protests.

"It's not?" Finn mocks.

"No. I don't go to those classes and I'm perfectly safe."

Both Finn and Rachel laugh loudly.

"Sexual education and free condoms sends a message to kids my age that they should be having premarital sex!"

"Erin," Tina tries. "You're a high school senior. I know when I was in high school, I was curious."

"I bet you were," Finn mocks.

"Shut up." She returns her attention to Erin after smacking Finn in the shoulder. "Don't you ever have any of those feelings? I mean, they can be really nice."

Looking indignant, Erin replies, "No offence, ma'am, but that curiosity isn't human nature. But rather your generation's lower standard of morality that has put my generation at risk."

"Erin, you're not listening," Tina interrupts.

"No, I see a great danger in the world and I want to stop it," Erin says. "We have to get back to family values in this country."

"Erin," Mike says. "Have you ever had sex?"

"Mike," Tina snaps.

"That's hardly a dinner appropriate question."

"How can you sit there, all of seventeen—"

"Seventeen and a half," Erin tells him.

"…And preach to me about family values and sexual education?"

"You don't even know what it's like to have sex," Finn points out.

"I knew girls like you in high school," Mike continues. "All high and mighty, acting like you're better than all of us, making every guy afraid to ask you out."

"Mike," Santana warns.

"You know what you need, Erin?" Mike asks. "Do you know what you **need**? You need a good stiff dick, that'll shut that mouth."

Erin gasps.

"Mike!" Tina shouts.

"Fuck!" Finn comments

"Shut up, Mike!" Tina yells.

"All right, all right," he relents. "I'm sorry." He grabs the wine next to him. "How about a glass of wine to loosen you up?"

"Hey now!" Santana shouts.

"I don't drink," Erin tells him, timidly.

"Oh come on," Mike continues. "One little sip ain't gonna kill you.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Tina asks Mike.

"Nothing," he replies, waving the bottle about. "Let's just drink, so we can get this over with."

"I don't think so," Tina says.

"Why is he so mean?" Erin asks.

"Let's not let Mike's little outburst cloud the issue here," Rachel interjects.

"Yes, exactly," Finn agrees.

"Would you two just relax a moment?" Santana says. "Can't you see we've upset her?"

Finn just laughs.

"You better be quiet, now, Hudson," Santana snarls.

"I'm going to walk Erin out now," Tina says, standing.

"That sounds like a bad idea Tina," Mike says.

"No," Erin trembles. "I want to go."

"I don't think so," Mike says shaking his head.

**…**

In the kitchen, Tina tries to take the poisoned wine away from Mike.

"She's a child," Tina hisses.

"Hitler was a child once, too."

"Hitler? Again?" Santana snaps. "We're getting too emotional."

"That's hilarious, coming from you," Rachel says, leaning against the wall.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Finn laughs.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Santana says. "Or I'll break your other fucking arm."

Finn blows her a kiss.

"Shut up," she says, smacking him.

Finn just laughs louder.

Santana grabs him by the shoulders and tries to take him down. Finn uses his cast to push her away. Santana punches him in the nose.

Finn grabs his nose and laughs. "Something new for you," he says. "Attacking someone when they're facing you."

Santana lunges as Finn dodges. She grabs a chair and raises it above her head.

"Stop it," Mike says, getting in between them. "Just stop it!"

"Bitch," Finn says.

Tina stares at them all for a moment and then exits the kitchen. "Come on, Erin," she says. "I'll take you home."

"We need a vacation," Rachel offers.

"Forget it," Santana mutters. "Figure this shit out after break."

**…**

The next day finds Sheriff Schuester skulking around the property of the graduate students. He has no real evidence, just a feeling, but it hasn't steered him wrong yet. He tries to see into the yard through the gaps in the white fence that surrounds the backyard, but all he can make out is a shed and a lot of tomato plants. Switching angles reveals someone crotched down, working around the plants.

**…**

Mike has finally had enough of Tina's extraneous gardening; he's ripping up all the flowers she planted.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Mike looks up to find Tina looming over him.

"Those are mine," she tells him.

"I'm getting rid of your embarrassing display," Mike replies, throwing a clump of dirt. "You might as well just put up a sign that says, "Cemetery: Bodies Buried Here"." Mike stands and throws

"Why don't you mind your fucking business?" Tina kicks the dirt.

"I am minding it," Mike snaps, standing. "You need to get your shit together. And fast."

"My shit's together just fine," Tina replies. "Don't worry."

She glares at him and he just stares right back.

"Travel agent's on the phone," Tina continues. "Going to Guyana over the break?"

"Yes, I am."

"Well enjoy yourself."

They glare at each other again.

Finally Mike says, "After you."

"Oh no," Tina replies. "After you."

Mike nods once, smiles falsely and walks towards the house. "Bitch," he mumbles.

**…**

Sheriff Schuester watches through the fence slats as the young Asian woman sighs and walks into the house. He then climbs the fence with the help of a stump on the outside and a large wooden box on the other. He jumps down and approaches the closest tomato plant. Crouching down, he pulls one off the vine and tastes it. He wipes his chin as the juice drips slightly.

"Can I help you?"

Will looks up to see a tall Asian man hovering above him. He's eating an apple and leaning on a shovel.

Looking up at him, Will blinks and wipes his chin again as he stands. "Hello. I'm Sheriff Schuester."

"Are you trespassing?" Mike asks. "Or are you just interested in olericulture?"

"Excuse me?"

"Olericulture," Mike enunciates. "The growing of vegetables."

"Yes," Will nods. "Olericulture. I've never tasted tomatoes this sweet."

"Thank you."

"Is it something you put in the soil?"

"No, just good topsoil," Mike tells him. "Gotta keep the earth moving, my grandmother always told me."

"So that's why it looks so dug up?" Will asks.

"Shhh," Mike says, voice low and intense, holding one finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone or everyone'll start doing it."

Will squeezes the tomato at the look he sees in Mike's eyes. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Besides, my business is almost done here."

"Your business?"

"The Amy Bennett case," Will tells him. "Haven't your roommates mentioned it?"

"Oh, yes, that little girl," Mike replies, letting his apple fall to the ground. "I think she's dead." His voice is deadly calm.

"Well, there's always hope, isn't there?" Will says.

Mike doesn't respond, just stares, his eyes hard.

"Have a good day," Will says.

Mike continues to stare. Will turns to leave. Mike holds up the shovel like a baseball bat and swings. Feeling the movement, Will turns back to Mike just in time for the shovel to slam into his head. He drops instantly, the tomato rolling helplessly out of his grasp.

**…**

Mike and Finn head for the airport the next day. Rachel and Santana sit on the porch, not speaking, and watch them leave. Rachel seems to want to say something; she keeps looking at Santana, but she never does. They stay that way long after Finn's car has left the driveway.

**…**

At the airport, Mike and Finn find all flights delayed because of the weather. Having nothing else to do, they buy a newspaper and find some empty seats. After about an hour, Finn dozes off, but is woken by his arm being knocked off his armrest. He looks at Mike, who nods at a small group of people standing nearby.

When the three people have cleared, Finn sees Sue Sylvester. They watch as she returns to her seat and signs another autograph. Finn looks at Mike and they nod at the same thought. Standing, they walk over to her.

With no real plan in place, they simply stand adjacent to her seat until she notices them. Without setting down her newspaper, she holds out her hand. Finn awkwardly tries to shake it with his cast.

"Oh, we don't have a book," Finn tells her.

"I'll have to call my publisher," Sue replies. "And have them send more down here immediately."

"Well that's the price of greatness," Finn offers.

"Actually, I think it's more the boredom of travel," Sue replies. "But thank you for the compliment."

"No, no," Mike adds. "You are an amazing woman."

"I'm a loud woman, but thank you again." Sue folds her paper and turns to face them. "Say, you guys wouldn't happen to know where a person can get a decent meal around here, would you?"

"Yes," they reply in unison.

**…**

Spaghetti sauces bubbles on the stove as Rachel sits at the table wiping the good wine glasses. "Can you believe that Sue Sylvester was at the airport?"

"I'm sure it's a real bitch flying your own private jet," Tina replies, sitting across from her.

Between them, sits Santana. The blue decanter is open and she's putting arsenic in it. "How much does Mike usually put in?"

"Just a few, I think," Rachel says.

Santana looks at the bottles for a moment. "Fuck that shit." She pours the entire bottle of arsenic into the blue bottle.

**…**

They've given Sue the usual guest spot. Everything is laid out perfectly; it looks even better than the first meal with the Reverend.

"Ms. Sylvester?" Mike says. "Would you like to say grace?"

The five of them look at her and smile.

Sue eyes them warily. "I didn't think people still said grace."

"We don't usually," Mike tells her. "We just thought you might be used to it."

"No. Absolutely not, no," she says. "If anything I think we should bow our heads and thank Rachel for such an incredible spread." No one says anything, though their smiles waver slightly. "Bon appétit."

"Bon appétit," Mike agrees.

They all dig in.

"You know, I'm forever amused by these people from the Christian Right who thank God for everything good and blame humans for everything that's bad." Both wine bottles are sitting in front of Sue. "May I?" she asks. No one says anything and she eventually chooses the green one and pours herself a glass.

"But aren't the Christian Right your strongest supporters?" Finn asks, taking a sip of wine.

"Those people need someone to follow because they can't do anything on their own."

"Of course," Finn continues. "The moral majority makes up a huge contingent of the Republican Right."

"They do," Sue agrees. "But they have very little power. They make most of the noise, but the centrists do all the work. The extremes of both parties grab all the headlines. But all the decisions are made by the moderates."

"That seems to go against most people's perceptions," Santana comments.

"Only naive people," Sue replies. "I can rant and rave with the best of them. But how else am I going to get heard? I'm not an elected representative. I'm a concerned citizen that sees certain things wrong and wants to change them. That's what's great about this county."

The five of them share smiles again at her rhetoric.

"But your views are extreme," Mike points out. "And extreme views incite people to extreme measures.

"I can't be responsible for every nut case who thinks I mean something when I mean something else," Sue replies. "Look, I admit to sometimes throwing in some pretty outrageous arguments to support my positions, but, man, it's the ratings thing, you know." Sue smiles. "Besides, the average citizen knows what I'm doing."

"What are you doing?" Rachel asks.

Mike chuckles silently to himself.

"Dissent," Sue tells her. "Being the voice of dissent. Jefferson, Monroe, Paine. They were all critics." She sips her wine. "Pundits, if you will, before they were the power." She looks at her wine glass a moment. "This is excellent wine. Willow Crest, Merlot?"

"Is that what you want, Sue?" Mike asks. "Power? To be president?"

"Mike, I already have power. The President?" Sue lets out a hearty, loud laugh. "He doesn't have any power. He's got to answer to Congress, to special interests, to the Court."

"To the people?" Mike continues.

"Yes, to a lesser degree to the people," Sue agrees, pouring more wine from the green bottle. "But I've got power: one voice, one vote."

"But your followers, they hate anyone who disagrees with you and your opinions," Rachel argues.

"Followers of Nelson Mandela commit murder," Sue points out. "Followers of Gandhi killed people."

"You compare yourself to Mandela and Gandhi?" Mike is indignant.

"No, those are great men," Sue replies, drinking her wine. "Rachel suggested I have followers as if I could control what people do. People do what they want to do."

"Like hate?" Rachel asks.

"It's true. You have some harmful people on the extreme left and the extreme right," Sue replies. "But I suggest that the more extreme those opposites get the more moderate this society becomes. Because when you average out all those extremes you come up with a society that's anchored in the middle and that's what we all want, isn't it? A society where all of us can live; all races, all religions, all views, living together forging ahead as one."

During this speech, Mike can only shake his head and roll his eyes. Not for a minute does he believe this rhetoric. The woman knows how to read her audience and respond accordingly.

"In any society, no matter how big or small, you're going to have dissent. I mean, look at the five of you." Sue gestures around the table. "Can you honestly say you agree on everything?"

No one answers, but their eyes scan each other before looking down at their plates.

"So how is any good supposed to get done?" Finn asks finally.

"My dear, I do not presume to know the answer to that one," Sue tells him. "All I know is you got to do the best you can do. You have to be the best individual selves you can be. Otherwise, why bother, right? Anything else turns the world to pure crap."

Wine glass empty, she reaches for the blue one.

"I don't think you should drink that one," Tina says. "It's been out for a little while. It's probably bad."

"I think the wine is fine," Mike says, a little too evenly.

Sue glances between them and replies, "Well, I, for one, could never be rude enough to ignore the suggestion of someone who helped prepare the meal. Thank you, Tina."

Dinner finished, Mike makes one last attempt to villainize Sue. Finn and Rachel are still sitting at attention, while Tina and Santana watch with their heads half in their hands, feeling awkward.

"It's 1909 and you're in Austria."

"Mmm hmmm," Sue murmurs, sounding mildly exasperated.

"You've just met a young artist named Adolf Hitler. Do you kill him? Do you eliminate him even if he hasn't yet killed millions of people?"

Sue scans them as she toys with her wine glass. "Absolutely not," she says finally.

Mike is incredulous. "You'd let all those people die, **knowing**you could do something to stop it?"

"That's not what I said—"

"That's just it," Mike interrupts. "You don't **say**anything. You just talk and talk and say nothing so many times that people think you're saying something."

Looking embarrassed, uncomfortable and contrite, the other four can only turn to Sue for her reaction to Mike's little rant.

Unlike the rest of them, Sue still appears calm and in control. "What I would do, **Mike**, if you could let me finish, is talk to the man. Try to show him the error of his ways to the best of my ability. Challenge his ideas. Exchange thoughts. Provoke change by intelligent debate."

A moment of silence as this idea is absorbed. Tina jumps up and heads into the kitchen.

Mike finishes his wine and slams down the glass. "I'll be right back," he says, standing.

Santana looks up from putting her head in her hands and says, "I've got to get some dessert."

"I'll help," Rachel adds, following her.

For a moment, Finn and Sue sit at the table. Thunder crashes in the background as Sue gives Finn an exuberant grin.

Not knowing what else to do, he says, "I have to get something…for somebody." He stands and follows the others into the kitchen.

**…**

The five of them huddle together in the kitchen, trying to keep their voices down.

"We're not doing this, right?" Tina asks.

"Right," Santana agrees.

"We've got the queen in our grasps, people," Mike argues.

"Haven't you heard a word she's said?" Santana asks. "Can't you see? She's right and we're wrong."

"Don't tell me you're falling for that bullshit," Mike says to Tina and Santana. Turning to Rachel and Finn, he continues. "She's the devil, for Christ's sake!"

"I don't know," Finn answers. "She's making sense."

"You blow like the fucking wind," Mike snaps. "She's giving us a prepared speech. She's so used to defending herself; she's got an answer primed for everything. She is the ice queen."

"Maybe we're wrong about her," Rachel suggests. "Maybe she only does this for money and publicity."

"You fucking idiot, like that's a better reason," Mike replies. "That's even worse. Creating hate for money, the fucking dollar. Come on!" He smacks the kitchen table in anger. "We have Sue Sylvester in the palm of our hands."

**…**

Waiting for them, Sue finishes her wine and reaches for the blue decanter. Remembering Tina's words, she sniffs it and recoils instantly at the smell. It doesn't exactly smell spoiled and so she sniffs it again more thoroughly. She recaps the decanter and sets it back on the table.

**…**

"Can you hear yourself?" Santana asks. "You sound like a fucking crazy person."

"Is it crazy to make a difference?" Mike asks, still agitated. "Is it crazy putting these assholes in their places? Can't you see through her shit?"

Santana leans in and sets her hand on Mike's shoulder. "Being full of shit is not a good enough reason to kill her."

"It's not the right thing to do," Rachel adds.

Disgusted, Mike tells them, "You guys are all turning into the fucking Stepford wives."

**…**

Still waiting, Sue stands and begins to look around the room. She examines the bookcase, full of left wing political books. Atop it, sits a picture of the five of them in the yard smiling.

She continues around the room. She finds the _Iowa Tribune,_ with the headline of _Foul Play Suspected in Sheriff's Disappearance_. She begins reading.

**…**

"This is getting us nowhere," Santana says. "I'm sorry, Mike, but it has to be unanimous. And it's four to one that she lives."

Mike's voice is eerily calm. "I'm sorry too, Santana, because she's not going to fucking live. And none of you are going to stop me." He pulls a revolver out of the waist of his pants and points it at Santana.

"What the fuck is that?"

"Holy shit!" Finn exclaims.

"She's Hitler," Mike says, voice still too calm.

"What the hell? What are you doing with a gun?"

Ignoring them, Mike continues, "She's Hitler and your deaths won't make the world a better place but hers will, so just get out of my way."

"Where did you get that gun?" Santana asks.

"The Sheriff," Mike replies.

"What Sheriff?" Tina asks.

Figuring it out, Rachel exclaims, "Oh, my God, the Sheriff!"

"The Sheriff's missing," Finn says.

"Not anymore."

"What did you do?" Rachel asks, distressed.

"He was onto us," Mike replies, quietly calm. "He was sneaking around back in the family plot."

"You killed a cop!" Finn accuses.

"You're saying I shouldn't have?" Mike asks. "You'd rather be in jail getting corn holed, rich boy?"

**…**

Sue continues reading the paper. Her eyes stop on another headline on the third page: _Nine Other Locals Missing and Feared Dead_.

Facing the window that looks into the backyard, she's able to see in the darkness whenever lighting flashes. The first thing she sees is lots of tomato plants, but on the next strike, she sees what's at the base of those bushes; mounds of soil that vaguely look like cemetery plots. Her eyes turn to the blue decanter on the table.

**…**

"I thought we were all together on this," Mike says. He sounds almost chocked up. "That we were all serious in this endeavor to do something incredible. Now I'm sorry he had to die, but he was in our way."

Tina shakes her head and heads towards the phone on the wall. Picking it up, she begins dialing.

Noticing her, Mike asks, "What are you doing?"

"Well, since it seems that you've gone insane," Tina tells him. "I'm calling the police."

Mike points the gun at her. Finn and Rachel jump out of their chairs and back away.

"No," Santana says. "No. Mike?"

Phone to her ear, ringing, Tina just stares right back at Mike. "So shoot me."

Mike cocks the hammer slowly.

"No! Mike!" Santana cries out.

Tina holds the phone away from her ear, so they call all hear the ringing. Finally it picks up. It's a recording.

"You have reached the Iowa Police Emergency Hotline. All our officers are busy right now. Please stay on the line. Your call will be answered in the order it was received." Then some muzak begins playing.

"Mike?"

Tina and Mike have a staring contest as Finn and Rachel watch from Mike's right. Santana still stands on the left, waiting to make a move. Tina's eyes have tears in them, but she continues to stare back, the phone in her hand. Mike looks at Finn and Rachel and then Santana before beginning to waver. The gun lowers slightly.

"Oh my god," he mumbles, his grip loosening on the gun.

Santana reaches for it and takes it, setting it on the table. Seeing this, Tina hangs up the phone.

"Tina. Santana. Tina. Santana," Mike begins murmuring.

Tina and Santana grab him, hugging him as he clenches them tightly mumbling to himself and crying.

"It's okay," Tina tells him. "It's okay."

**…**

Sitting at the table, Sue watches as the kitchen door swings open and Finn comes out looking stunned. Rachel and Santana follow, holding hands; they sit with a sigh. Tina leads Mike out and helps him sit before taking her seat.

Seeing all this Sue waits until they're all seated and asks, "Are you guys okay?"

"Fine," Mike says.

They all wear relieved smiles.

"Just a little nonnuclear-family-values problem," Tina tells her.

"Life just gets more and more complicated every day. Well, the weather's breaking," Sue says. She shrugs and continues, "And I just wanted to drink a toast to all of you."

They all look at each other warily.

"Oh don't worry," Sue assures them. "I didn't pour the bad wine."

Looking they see that the green decanter is empty and the blue one is still full.

"You know," Finn says. "I'm pretty sure we could all use a drink."

They all chuckle.

"Aren't you going to join us?" Rachel asks as Santana reaches for the green bottle.

"No please," Sue says, holding up her hand. "I've had more than enough. Besides I don't want you guys waking up to the headline: Old windbag, forced to have last drink, crashes private plane."

"Isn't it bad luck to toast without wine?" Tina asks.

"Not in China," Sue tells them.

The five of them laugh again.

"Anyway, to your health," Sue says.

They all pick up their wine glasses, clink once and drink. Sue looks up at Santana's painting hanging from the ceiling.

Finishing their wine, the glasses are set back down. Sue watches for a few moments and it isn't long until the five occupants are forever silent.

**…**

"You know, wherever I travel in this bountiful land of ours, the question on everybody's mind seems to be will I make a run for this country's highest office? Well, my friends, some people would say I already have. At any rate, all I would like to say to you well-wishers out there is that I shall do whatever the people want me to do because I am your humble, humble, servant."

The End.


End file.
